Posted on March 5, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

It’s a working man I am.

 

“Tiptoe through the window,
By the window, that is where I’ll be,
Come tiptoe through the tulips with me.”
Tiptoe Through the Tulips. Tiny Tim

When was the last time you had a good look at your toes and toenails? My eating habits up north have been less than desirable so the question should be how many of us can even see our feet?

I know what you’re thinking. The isolation has finally gotten to poor Len and he is grasping at straws for something to write. In case you’re wondering, there are no shops in Kangiqsujuaq for manicures and pedicures. I did get a first-class haircut from our art teacher a few weeks ago which included a neck massage and a shot of Cuban rum… neat.

As seniors become less mobile, good foot care is essential. If I keep teaching, I’ll need counselling long before I’ll require foot care.

So why this toe fetish you might ask?

Long distance runners and long distance walkers know that one of the casualties of excessive abuse to the feet is toenail damage. I remember back in 2012 when I ran the Boston Marathon, I went to the Expo the day before the race. Runners could pick up all kinds of Marathon paraphernalia. There was one booth selling fridge magnets specifically targeted for the running crowd. Two caught my eye and I think they were the only two items I bought. One read “26.2 Miles. What could possibly go wrong?” The other said “Toenails are for sissies.” Up until that time, I had never had a serious issue with blackened toenails but when Charlene dragged my sorry ass across the finish line, I discovered that 9 of my toenails were jet black. Why the running gods spared the tenth remains a great mystery.

Last spring and summer I reckon I walked about 1500 kilometers. The two big walks were the Camino in Spain and my solo journey around the Cabot Trail to raise money for my good friend, Simone. I didn’t pay much attention at the time but two of my toenails suffered some fairly serious damage, so much so that neither has fully healed. I didn’t realize that toenails were such delicate objects.

Maybe I’ll treat myself to a pedicure when I get home. I know real men don’t eat quiche, but do they get pedicures?

The picture at the top of the page has zero relevance to my feet. I had a choice between a picture of one of the hundreds of roaming dogs in the village or a picture of me in my union t-shirt. Because I had a picture of a puppy the other day, I thought I would go with the “man in black” photo.

I started my serious work career in a teacher’s union in Alberta. I don’t consider mowing graves or pumping gas for $1.00 an hour as a teenager serious work. When I left the teaching fraternity, I ended up in positions of management and eventually owned my own business. And now, in the third period of my life (I’m praying for a double overtime!), I’m back in a teacher’s union once more. My union has begun negotiations with the provincial government on a new contract.

I’m fortunate to have been able to see both sides of labor and management.

Here’s a shameless plug from the founder of Week45 storytelling. That would be me. I have two advertising spots available on my website. For the price of a double-double five days a week, your company could reach tens of millions of readers. Hey. If everyone else is using fake news, why can’t I? As Maxwell Smart would say, “Would you believe a couple of thousand?” The ads are displayed between 20,000 -25,000 times in a six -month period. Give me a shout if you’re interested.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on February 27, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

Learning new lessons every day

 

“The best laid schemes of mice and men go oft awry.”
To a Mouse. Robert Burns

I would respectfully like to add children to that short list.

Speaking of creatures, I am a creature of habit. I am a big fan of order, structure, and routine. At least I used to be. After a few days of teaching up north, I packed these notions away along with my summer clothing.

This is not to suggest that order does not exist at my current place of work. It’s just defined differently.

When I look back, my working life has been spent almost entirely in meetings. My jobs all involved meetings. Ditto for my years as a town councilor, school board member and the countless non-profit Boards that I sat on. I won’t count the thousands of hours at various choir practices, masses and funerals. All of these things had a defined start and finish time. Some weddings didn’t start on time but I found funerals pretty reliable.

My school runs by a schedule but within these boundaries, each teacher must figure out the internal rhythm of their class depending on class size and composition. As the newest (and oldest!) teacher in the school, I did a lot of observing trying to find the right balance between compassion and strictness. I figured that the compassionate route suited my status as an elder but lately I realized that it was time to tighten the reins a wee bit. After a lot of trial and error (more errors than trials) I decided that a new set of rules need to be implemented.

I met with a young teacher in the school. She is one of those people who have “it”, that elusive quality that makes some people especially suited to their craft. I asked her for suggestions on classroom management. The topics were cereal, water and bathroom breaks.

Armed with fresh strategies and renewed vigor, I addressed the class, clearly articulating the new rules. I was firm but fair. One of these new rules was about trips to the washroom. These have become almost as common as trips to Costco at Christmas time. Now, if this was a class full of senior citizens, I might buy the notion of frequent pit stops to the can. If a septuagenarian put up his hand and asked, “Can I go to the bathroom?”, I might be inclined to answer, “Depends.”

I told my young charges that there would be no bathroom breaks while I was teaching. The instructional parts of my class typically last 20-25 minutes. I went so far as to suggest that I wouldn’t entertain a request let alone grant one during this short window of time.

I started teaching my lesson.

The oxygen had barely been expelled from my lungs when one of my bathroom “regulars” put up her hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?’ I was slightly dumbfounded with the timing of the request. The request was quickly denied. I didn’t even have to utter the word “no”, such was the scowl on my face.

I turned to face the Smart Board to continue teaching when I heard this deafening bang which almost caused me to wet my trousers. The student hadn’t taken kindly to my rejection and unceremoniously tipped over her desk, including a fresh bowl of cereal, a bottle of water, and the contents of the desk.

My capable and ever reliable classroom aide was able to take the student to the office.

As I was leaving the school, I was stopped in the hallway by the teacher who had given me the sage advice earlier in the day. “Well Len, how did the new rules work out this afternoon?”

I just grinned and slipped quietly out of the school.

As Staples would say, “That was easy”!

Have a great weekend.

P.S Please put your hand up if you need to go to the bathroom.

Posted on February 20, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

St.Ninian Street School

 

“Every child, every person needs to know that they are a source of joy; every child, every person, needs to be celebrated.” Jean Vanier

“Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.” Sermon on the Mount. The Bible

I come from a small town in rural Nova Scotia. Every village, town, or city anywhere in this country or indeed the world has something to boast about. It is called community pride and while you can’t always see it in some tangible landmark, it is there with its own heartbeat. Antigonish is known as the home of the Antigonish Movement, the Highland Games, and the Coady Institute. A university and a regional hospital endow the community with talented people. We treat newcomers as family and friend

My lifelong friend and buddy, Mary O’Connell died earlier this week. Mary grew up on West Street, the daughter of Brian and Jean. She was part of a large family of very well educated and well -spoken people.

There was a time not all that long ago, that being born with a mental handicap was a source of shame. It was common for people with intellectual disabilities to be kept at home and away from the public. Some might say that Mary was unlucky, but I think that if you were to ask her to sum up her life, she would say that it was a very special journey. She might even say that she was lucky.

Mary was fortunate to be born in Antigonish and to be the daughter of Brian and Jean O’Connell. Nearly 50 years ago, the O’Connell’s, the MacIntosh’s and several other families started to make waves. These waves turned into a tsunami and today, the fruits of their labour are obvious in every nook and cranny of Antigonish.

One of the first initiatives of the then Canadian Association for Mentally Retarded (Sorry. But that’s what it was called back then) was the provision of a day program at the Antigonish Activity Centre, housed in the old St. Ninian Street School. The program grew and prospered as did the number of individuals taking advantage of this service as more and more families realized the enormous potential of their children.

Mary was one of the early attendees and when the new CACL Workshop opened in the early 1980s, Mary became a stalwart in the bakery. I had known Mary previously through family connections but as Administrator of the Workshop, I got to know Mary very well. I saw her daily as she marched purposely through the hallway, past my office and downstairs to the bakery. Mary wasn’t shy. I always knew what was on her mind!

Running the Workshop required a lot of money and while provincial funding was adequate, there was a perpetual shortfall. The organization decided to start fundraising in a serious way. I spent countless hours at Brian O’Connell’s kitchen table mapping out the public relations strategy. In the initial campaign, $40,000 was raised, a very sizeable figure back then. Brian was a PR wizard and we were able to get our message out clearly and affectively. Mary was one of those chosen to do a radio spot. The voice of the handicapped was literally and figuratively being heard.

Today, those with intellectual challenges are a part of the fabric of the community. They are full citizens, making a significant contribution. We continue to benefit from their wisdom.

Mary was particularly lucky to be surrounded by siblings who were very fond of her. Mary was their equal. She was their shining star.

May her star shine bright in the heavens.